Learning to Share
by regrette rien
Summary: Sherlock, John and Lestrade's relationship takes a new turn: "Classic indicators of guilt – no – embarrassment," Sherlock commented, strolling closer, tugging his gloves on...


**Title: Learning to Share**

**Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/John (est.), Sherlock/Lestrade, John/Lestrade … oh my!**

**Rating: PG (nothing graphic, just kissing!)**

**Summary: PWP? Sherlock, John and Lestrade's relationship takes a new turn.**

**A/N: Oh, hi, fully-formed story attacking me first thing in the morning! If only fics were all this easy to write…  
>I don't actually know if there's anything canon about Lestrade's marriage, so if I've made mistakes with that (or anything else!) in this fic, please let me know.<strong>

"Come now, what are you two talking about?"

The two so-addressed jumped apart as if stung, only emphasising their suspiciousness.

John's mouth snapped shut on whatever he'd been about to say, and he ducked his head.

"Classic indicators of guilt – no – embarrassment," Sherlock commented, strolling closer, tugging his gloves on.

Lestrade's eyes flicked towards the detective hesitantly.

"You, Lestrade, are trying not to give too much away through your body language, and that is telling in itself." Sherlock's examination proceeded steadily.

Just then, his brain ticked over, and a hint of concern crept into his monologue. "Is there something wrong with the case? There can't be, I've looked at every aspect. It's solved."

Sherlock froze where he stood. "I did solve it – it was definitely the jealous bridesmaid. She confessed!"

His agitation grew, and John knew that if action wasn't taken, the consequences would be dire. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Sherlock." He stated calmly, firmly, wrapping his right arm low around the detective's hips. His hand curved softly at the top of Sherlock's behind.

"The case is fine. It's finished."

With his left hand, he gently tugged on the front of Sherlock's coat, drawing him closer.

Compliancy from the taller man meant they could reach one another with ease, and John was able to present Sherlock with a loving kiss. It was sweet, and kind – nothing spectacular or new about it.

A little odd that they were kissing in such close vicinity to a crime scene, when normally John had such explicit moral boundaries, but otherwise, this was nothing overly outrageous.

Besides, John was like a magician with his kisses – he'd make them appear when you least expected, or were least prepared.

One time, when Sherlock had just woken up after crashing out following a particularly demanding case, there was John, in the living room, calmly reading the newspaper, two cups of freshly-brewed tea sitting, steaming innocently, on the table.

"Morning, sunshine." John had greeted him.

Sherlock had grunted, and flopped onto the couch.

"It's Wednesday." John continued.

"I know." Sherlock grumbled.

"You went to be on Monday." John pointed out, smoothly.

"I know!" Sherlock exclaimed, flailing his limbs in impotent, inexplicable rage.

His temper in the mornings was legendary – John had often jokingly threatened to put a warning sign up on his door.

"I made you breakfast." John's voice said quietly, right next to Sherlock's ear.

The detective started in surprise, and turned to look. John was kneeling next to the couch, and there, in his hand, was the most beautiful plate with a full English breakfast, cooked to perfection. John had even included a sprig of parsley as garnish.

"I …" Sherlock began, but was interrupted.

"I love you." John had said, proceeding to kiss him back to life.

When they pulled apart, Sherlock compulsively licked his lips, to sample, to taste, and offered up a quiet little "Thank you" for Mummy had always insisted it was proper manners to express thanks for nice things.

John's smile only took his attention for a moment, however, as Lestrade stepped forward.

Sherlock didn't tense – he had trusted the DI above all others before meeting John – but he was certainly curious about this new infringement on his personal space.

"Sherlock, I – We – Hm." Lestrade fidgeted.

"Bollocks." He declared, and wrapped his left arm around Sherlock's back, using his right hand to guide Sherlock's face down towards his own. He wasn't rough, but he was determined.

Sherlock's surprise was quelled by John's hand stroking his hip soothingly, and gradually, Sherlock composed himself enough to collect data on this new experience.

The discrepancy between John and Lestrade's heights did not significantly affect their relative kisses, but their ages – or perhaps experience? – certainly did.

Lestrade, as Sherlock knew, had been married for seven years, and in a relationship with that same woman for three years prior to their wedding.

The kiss Sherlock was receiving now was the kiss Lestrade had developed with his wife. It felt like a man kissing a woman.

(Sherlock should know, he had, after all, done thorough research on the different kissing styles of each partner in hetero- and homosexual couples. Naturally, it had been relevant to a case at the time. That wasn't to say he hadn't found it fascinating on its own terms. It had been surprisingly easy to convince the homosexual women that he was also a homosexual woman. He'd expected much more of a challenge there, as he'd observed this community having a tendency to be less idiotic than others. Irrespective, the results had shown that men who believe they are kissing men were more likely to kiss harder, with more brute force, than any other pairing. It had been invaluable information at the time.)

Lestrade's kiss did not contain brute force.

His stubble also told Sherlock a story, in that this kiss had not been planned very far in advance. That was…reassuring, somehow. To know that he wasn't being ambushed as such.

"Thanks." Sherlock said again, automatically, when Lestrade drew away.

Lestrade grinned and shrugged.

"Well – "

"There's just – "

John and Lestrade spoke at the same time.

They caught each other's eye and giggled.

Nervously.

There was distinct nervousness in those giggles, Sherlock noted.

"What – " he contributed, but his question was interruption by an unexpected movement.

"Oh."

Lestrade and John were kissing.

Just as Sherlock and Lestrade had been, moments ago, and Sherlock and John, moments before that.

There was something about all this shared intimacy, shared physicality, that made Sherlock weak at the knees, and he was grateful for the two strong arms holding him up.

Lestrade and John … kissing.

It was not a polite kiss, a courteous kiss on the cheek in greeting.

It was not a simple kiss of confirmation of friendship.

This kiss conveyed need, want; their bodies were pressed together from groin to throat, and then the ultimate point of contact: those lips and tongues.

Sherlock marveled that there was no battle for dominance taking place, just an easy slide of power from one to the other.

He felt faint again, realising that the arms Lestrade and John did not have wrapped around him, were tightly wrapped around each other… the emotion that was indisputably expressed by this gesture! The emotion that had been indisputably expressed through the events of the last few minutes.

"This is…remarkably arousing." Sherlock stated, when the two finally separated.

"You're telling me?" John panted, leaning heavily against Sherlock, but keeping his other hand planted firmly, possessively on Lestrade's backside.

"We – er – don't need to do anything else here." Lestrade pointed out. "The area's cordoned off, being looked after by the sergeants, and the suspect – assailant – is down the Yard. We can just…leave."

Sherlock pondered this for a moment.

"Lestrade," he began, walking with his arms around the two other men, "What are your thoughts on using the lights and siren in order to get to our destination with increased rapidity? I believe we have an emergency on our hands."

-FIN-


End file.
